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CHAPTER XVI - ALL SAINTS' AND ALL SOULS'
ON a week-day morning a small congregation, consisting
mainly of women and girls, rose from its knees in the mouldy
nave of a church called All Saints', in the distant barrack-
town before mentioned, at the end of a service without a
sermon. They were about to disperse, when a smart footstep,
entering the porch and coming up the central passage,
arrested their attention. The step echoed with a ring
unusual in a church; it was the clink of spurs. Everybody
looked. A young cavalry soldier in a red uniform, with the
three chevrons of a sergeant upon his sleeve, strode up the
aisle, with an embarrassment which was only the more marked
by the intense vigour of his step, and by the determination
upon his face to show none. A slight flush had mounted his
cheek by the time he had run the gauntlet between these
women; but, passing on through the chancel arch, he never
paused till he came close to the altar railing. Here for a
moment he stood alone.
The officiating curate, who had not yet doffed his surplice,
perceived the new-comer, and followed him to the communion-
space. He whispered to the soldier, and then beckoned to
the clerk, who in his turn whispered to an elderly woman,
apparently his wife, and they also went up the chancel
steps.
"'Tis a wedding!" murmured some of the women, brightening.
"Let's wait!"
The majority again sat down.
There was a creaking of machinery behind, and some of the
young ones turned their heads. From the interior face of
the west wall of the tower projected a little canopy with a
quarter-jack and small bell beneath it, the automaton being
driven by the same clock machinery that struck the large
bell in the tower. Between the tower and the church was a
close screen, the door of which was kept shut during
services, hiding this grotesque clockwork from sight. At
present, however, the door was open, and the egress of the
jack, the blows on the bell, and the mannikin's retreat into
the nook again, were visible to many, and audible through-
out the church.
The jack had struck half-past eleven.
"Where's the woman?" whispered some of the spectators.
The young sergeant stood still with the abnormal rigidity of
the old pillars around. He faced the south-east, and was as
silent as he was still.
The silence grew to be a noticeable thing as the minutes
went on, and nobody else appeared, and not a soul moved.
The rattle of the quarter-jack again from its niche, its
blows for three-quarters, its fussy retreat, were almost
painfully abrupt, and caused many of the congregation to
start palpably.
"I wonder where the woman is!" a voice whispered again.
There began now that slight shifting of feet, that
artificial coughing among several, which betrays a nervous
suspense. At length there was a titter. But the soldier
never moved. There he stood, his face to the south-east,
upright as a column, his cap in his hand.
The clock ticked on. The women threw off their nervousness,
and titters and giggling became more frequent. Then came a
dead silence. Every one was waiting for the end. Some
persons may have noticed how extraordinarily the striking of
quarters seems to quicken the flight of time. It was
hardly credible that the jack had not got wrong with the
minutes when the rattle began again, the puppet emerged, and
the four quarters were struck fitfully as before: One could
almost be positive that there was a malicious leer upon the
hideous creature's face, and a mischievous delight in its
twitchings. Then, followed the dull and remote resonance of
the twelve heavy strokes in the tower above. The women were
impressed, and there was no giggle this time.
The clergyman glided into the vestry, and the clerk
vanished. The sergeant had not yet turned; every woman in
the church was waiting to see his face, and he appeared to
know it. At last he did turn, and stalked resolutely down
the nave, braving them all, with a compressed lip. Two
bowed and toothless old almsmen then looked at each other
and chuckled, innocently enough; but the sound had a strange
weird effect in that place.
Opposite to the church was a paved square, around which
several overhanging wood buildings of old time cast a
picturesque shade. The young man on leaving the door went
to cross the square, when, in the middle, he met a little
woman. The expression of her face, which had been one of
intense anxiety, sank at the sight of his nearly to terror.
"Well?" he said, in a suppressed passion, fixedly looking at
her.
"Oh, Frank -- I made a mistake! -- I thought that church
with the spire was All Saints', and I was at the door at
half-past eleven to a minute as you said. I waited till a
quarter to twelve, and found then that I was in All Souls'.
But I wasn't much frightened, for I thought it could be to-
morrow as well."
"You fool, for so fooling me! But say no more."
"Shall it be to-morrow, Frank?" she asked blankly.
"To-morrow!" and he gave vent to a hoarse laugh. "I don't
go through that experience again for some time, I warrant
you!"
"But after all," she expostulated in a trembling voice, "the
mistake was not such a terrible thing! Now, dear Frank, when
shall it be?"
"Ah, when? God knows!" he said, with a light irony, and
turning from her walked rapidly away.
Content of CHAPTER XVI - ALL SAINTS' AND ALL SOULS' [Thomas Hardy's novel: Far From The Madding Crowd]
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Read next: CHAPTER XVII - IN THE MARKET-PLACE
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